Tariku's Droplets

Walls and Falls It is now twenty five years since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Why do walls fall? Do they fall to free the imprisoned or to expand the prison? Physical walls could fall literally; the meaning we attach to their fall, however, might stand erected. As the world celebrates the fall of the Berlin wall, others are erected in speed of light; erecting walls of separation is too fast and easy than tearing them down. Ethiopia : As the world celebrates the fall of the Berlin wall, it is sad to see the wall of ethnic division among Ethiopians (more so among the Diaspora Ethiopians) being built and strengthened by the day; and the wall of authoritarianism being erected in the main land. Africa : As the world celebrates the fall of the Berlin wall, a wall of disinformation is being strengthened between Europeans and their Governments as to the true heinous nature of their governments’ roles in Libya, the DR Congo , and Mali, etc. Europe: As the world ...

Debating the Core ( P art one ) : Who should educate the future? Tariku Abas Etenesh Introduction Have you ever said or heard it claimed that the family is the core of the society? The core that presents the base for all that the individual has in turn to claim or contribute to the society? Such arguments of the role of family in the life of an individual are not more manifest in any field as in the world of education. The father of psycho analysis, Sigmund Fraud, has stated that in the life of the individual “ early foundations are critical” . Such an assertion is at least indication that the life experience that the child forms in his formative years on the planet is so important that it will be inseparably linked to his manifested wants and dislikes. It seems recognition to this fact that many educational theorists argue that any teaching and learning theory should recognize the place the role of the family in the child’s learning. Thus, in the rhetoric of teaching an...

The Story Makes the Man or … By Tariku Abas Etenesh We live not only by bread but by story too. What is created by man and in turn created man?  May you guess? Don’t you worry; I give you the answer. Well, not necessarily should you agree, though. I say it is story . Story is often created by man and in turn through time, emboldened and pronounced through misapprehension or comprehension induced repetitions and embellishments,  ultimately becomes the creator of man. This article intends to reflect on this reality citing some randomly selected stories. All that man owns and envisions has to be translated into a story of some sort before it actually becomes a dictate in life. The greater purpose for which man is put on this planet; it seems, to perpetuate streams of stories as if the universe is sequencing each head of humanity like the zeros and ones of computer codes or the genetic alphabets in the double helices.   As man is a story munchin...

Insolence and silence When the two marry, And into prominence they grow; Where politics impacts the scroll and dictionary, And systems are no-bold to rise out of self editing burrow;  My heart beats: it’s–time-to–worry: When the two marry, A soul - deafeningly insolent- leading the mass, Meeting its moment of illusion of importance; Like a muted iceberg of vile waiting for a shy sun rise to cares its face; And another soul meant to silence insolence yet helplessly bewildered, Meeting its moment of reflection of truth but remain hushed; Like a poet shying away from his golden words: Moaning in silence; When the two marry, The inherent deterrence, Muted by silence, becomes, The lubrication for the country’s engine; Of degenerative chagrin, Ululating for marriage of insolence and silence, Where Humanness ‘deservedly’ suits, For a lamb on the altar of collective sacrifice. (Tariku Abas Etenesh) July 18, 2014  ...

Insolence and silence When the two marry, And into prominence they grow; Where politics impacts the scroll and dictionary, And systems are no-bold to rise out of self editing burrow;  My heart beats: it’s–time-to–worry: When the two marry, A soul - deafeningly insolent- leading the mass, Meeting its moment of illusion of importance; Like a muted iceberg of vile waiting for a shy sun rise to cares its face; And another soul meant to silence insolence yet helplessly bewildered, Meeting its moment of reflection of truth but remain hushed; Like a poet shying away from his golden words: Moaning in silence; When the two marry, The inherent deterrence, Muted by silence, becomes, The lubrication for the country’s engine; Of degenerative chagrin, Ululating for marriage of insolence and silence, Where Humanness ‘deservedly’ suits, For a lamb on the altar of collective sacrifice. (Tariku Abas Etenesh) July 18, 2014  ...

I Met Orwell Last Night (Tariku Abas Etenesh) I talked to Orwell last night, Of course in my dream; Yes, I am talking about him ; That hallowed seer, Of the gospel: nineteen eighty-four ; And in that dream-I woke up dreamingly into a serious talk, In what turned out to be a stage fit for a debate of real politic, We stood, I guess, over a strangely raised historical peak, Furnishing a view of the world -so panoramic;” There, What commenced like a shy conversation, Ebbed and grew bold into evasive friction: I must have said, part beaming with shy pride: “Look at this brand new world: Of freedom and techno wonders, Of democratic advancements and elections, Of constitutions and justice, And I guess -I added- part doubting my own words: Look how ‘no big brothers’ prevail the like of your prophesies” Orwell was too generous as to start with a smile: “Yes, you observed right What I  prophesied  in my books -did provide, Le...

Romancing Genocide?! .............................. .............................. .................. So said the pundit: The script of genocides is penned with bayonet;  As if machetes have souls with vengeful intent; So said another pundit: The drama of genocide is choreographed by destruction, As if ruins have seasons and are naturally born; Yet I went to ask Ghosts of the dead, Who- to death, by hatred been ushered, Under their tombs marked and unmarked, What is your take ? So said the ghosts regretfully cogent: Effects are bigger than grounds; And no single consequence is born out of a single cause! As no real war is waged in the battle fields; And no peace time is shy of warring gesticulations; A real genocide is scripted in times of wounded peace Where tolerances to hatred constitutes ‘real politics’ Where in the space left for forgiveness reigns, Vengeful fingers pointing at unearned sufferings, yet chanting “they deserve injustice”, So I heard the ghosts reg...